by Jeff Abbott
“Candace?”
She sniffed once and didn't answer, slipping into sleep. I sat and watched her for five minutes, dabbing at the saliva that slicked her chin. When her sleep seemed even, I went back out into the hall. Gretchen was murmuring to Pop in a soft, reassuring voice.
“Gretchen? Would you mind sitting with Candace for a minute? She's resting a little more comfortably now.”
“Sure, hon.” She broke away from Pop and regarded me for a moment. Then she surprised me with a fierce hug. “It's going to be all right, Jordy. It will be.” Then she broke away from me and went into Candace's room, easing the door shut behind her.
Pop stared at me with bleary eyes.
“You tell me why. Why would anyone hurt Candace?” I asked.
“I don't know—” he began, and a hard fury seized me. I whirled and grabbed his shirt hard.
“Enough fucking secrets!” I hissed. “I found Paul's jewelry in the attic. I know you killed him.”
His jaw worked. “Wha—what?”
“I know Paul came here after he murdered Nora. He intended to kill you and Gretchen. You killed him in self-defense. And the whole family conspired to cover it up. Y'all forged his suicide note that Mutt found, or pretended to find. Y'all dumped his body somewhere, here on the island or out in the bay—but kept his jewelry. I found it.”
“Oh, God, oh, God,” Pop whimpered. He stumbled away from me, but I didn't release his shirt. I heard the rip of fabric. He stared at me with frenzied eyes.
“I can hazard a guess at what happened here tonight. Aubrey's writing a book on screwed-up families, and God knows he's got himself an unbelievable case study here. Maybe he found out the truth about Paul's death. Maybe someone decided Aubrey knew too much, and had to be gotten rid of, like he wasn't anything more than a fucking insect.” My voice cracked. “And Candace made the mistake of drinking cranberry juice out of the same pitcher. Goddamn it, you tell me who did this.”
Pop sobbed. I eased my hold on his shirt, my heart pounding. If he didn't tell me—
“I don't know,” he muttered.
“You were in Lolly's room this morning. You took something out of Sweetie's bed. Was it Paul's jewelry? Is that where she'd hid it?”
“I don't know what you're talking about, Jordy—”
“You listen to me. If you don't tell me, it's over between us. I will walk away from here, and you'll never see me again. You will be out of my heart and out of my mind.” Words, fueled by grief and anger, poured from me like foulness from a suppurating wound. “I'll even leave Mirabeau. Candace and I will go and you'll never see us again. You tell me what's happening here.”
His entire face trembled. “Oh, God, I never wanted you to know. My brother—my bruh-bruh—” He wept then. He wept like a man possessed by a demon and then shown the face of God. We sank to the floor together in our embrace, his head turned away so I couldn't see his tears. Gretchen opened the door and stared at us. I shook my head at her and she retreated back into Candace's room.
I let him cry, then wiped his face with the bottom of my T-shirt. After his sobs subsided, he stared at the colorful patterns of the Persian rug on the floor. I cradled Pop's heavy jaw in my hands and turned his face to mine.
“I will still love you, no matter what you did,” I whispered. “No matter what. But this isn't going to continue. I'm not going to let whoever's behind this misery get away.” He tried to pivot his face away and I wrenched it back, squeezing hard. “Where does it end? My child will never be now. Candace and Aubrey may die. Lolly's already dead. You tell me who this is.”
“I honestly don't know. Honestly, believe me.” He blinked. “How did you know what I did?”
“Gretchen told me. She's known ever since Paul died.”
His blue eyes, bloodshot, widened. “She knew?”
“Yes. All these years, she knew. And she still loved you.”
He made an unintelligible sound.
“What happened that night? Tell me.”
“I—we were all here. Mutt was beside himself at the thought of a killer in our family. He was deeply worried about Deborah and Brian, how this would affect them. We had buried Nora here 'cause she had no people of her own. I didn't want to believe Paul had killed her. He and I hadn't gotten along since Gretchen divorced him and married me. I'd tried, but he wouldn't. I couldn't help but feel as though Nora's death was somehow my fault—if I'd gotten sense into Paul, or if I'd just stayed away from Gretchen—Nora never would have come into our family, never would have died.” He dragged the back of his hand across his face. “Nora was a fine woman, a good person. She didn't deserve to die like she did.”
“And you went to her grave that night?” I prompted.
He nodded miserably. “I don't know—maybe I just wanted to be alone, apologize to her for the mess I'd created in our lives.”
“What Paul did wasn't your fault, Pop. You're not responsible for his actions.”
He shook his head. “I felt like her blood was on my hands. I couldn't help but blame myself.” A shiver ran through him. “He was there, hiding behind one of the tombs. God, Jordan, the look on his face. Haggard and crazy. He'd stolen a boat from Port Lavaca and come to the other side of Sangre. He had a gun—said he and I had unfinished business. My brother, my own brother.” His voice faded and his eyes went distant with remembered grief. “But it wasn't Paul, it was some stranger in his skin.”
He took a fortifying breath. I squeezed his shoulders in support. “I told him to put the gun down, he and I could settle our differences with fists, like gentlemen. He laughed, kind of crazy like, said he couldn't do that. Had three bullets, he said—one for me, one for Gretchen, the last for himself. So he meant to kill himself, too.” He paused. “Not that it makes what I did no better.
“He told me to stand on Nora's grave. Said it was fitting, my blood could soak the ground where she lay. Said he'd kill Gretchen there, too, if he could. I did what he said. I'm so ashamed. I'd pissed my pants and I stank. Paul laughed at me and he raised the gun. I knew then he truly meant to shoot me.” He touched my jaw. “You know that fear, son, I know you do. We've both been there.”
“Yes,” I managed. “I know what it means to see in another person's eyes that they mean to kill you.”
“He leveled the gun at me. I was begging him not to, that we were brothers. He cocked the gun and I quit thinking—I just threw myself at him. He fired and missed. I felt the bullet go through my hair. I tackled him and we fought for the gun, and I got my hands on it and it went off and oh God there was so much blood and this smell of burned flesh—” The memories weighed too hard on him and he bowed his head.
“Pop,” I said.
“He was dead in my arms. He didn't say a word before he died. I dropped him and I ran back to the house. I was out of my mind. Uncle Jake and Sass caught me out on the porch and I told them what happened. Sass got Lolly and Mutt and told them. Aunt Lolly was hysterical that I'd go to jail, the terrible shame the family was already suffering would just get worse. So Uncle Mutt—he said we'd make it look like suicide. I forged the note. Mutt, Jake, and Lolly did away with the body—I don't even know where it is. Mutt just told me they'd taken care of it. The police accepted the story. And we all thought that was the end.” He sagged against the wall, exhausted now that his tale was told. A vein of lightning blasted the sky and its elfin light played along our faces from the hall's window. “One of them must've taken Paul's jewelry off of him.”
“I think it was hidden in Lolly's room, in Sweetie's bed. Wendy said she saw you there—”
He shook his head firmly. “Then she's lying. I never was in that room.”
I swallowed. “The murderer must be Sass, Mutt, or Jake, then.”
Pop coughed. Misery clouded his face. “But Gretchen found out. You found out. Maybe one of the other kids did, too. I mean, you said that's why Aubrey got poisoned, because he knew something.”
I closed my eyes. Aubrey's cold chatter during the fa
mily gathering, idly challenging: You know Tom's been roaming around the island with a shovel?
I hugged Pop close. “Thank you for trusting me. I love you.”
“Son—” he began, but I stood.
“I need to go check on Candace. And Aubrey.” I paused, my hand on the door.
Gretchen sat quietly by Candace, who slept. I watched the gentle rise of her breath and watched Gretchen's fingers laced with hers.
“She's sleeping,” Gretchen said, not looking at me. “She seems better. Deb may have saved her life.”
I went and kissed Candace's forehead. “Will you stay with her while I attend to some business?”
“What—where are you going?”
“I'm making sure no one else gets hurt, even if I have to blow this family apart to do it.” I touched Gretchen's shoulder. “Bob Don's going to be okay. He is.”
“I don't want him to get in trouble for what he did—” she began, and I pointed at Candace.
“See her? That's the price of secrecy in this family. The price of wronged pride. No more, Gretchen. You or I or Pop could be next.”
She gulped. “Yes, of course, I'll stay with her. I'll take good care of her, Jordy.”
“I know you will. Thank you.” I gave Candace a final look before I shut the door behind me.
I went downstairs to Aubrey's room. Deborah stood outside, testing the hallway phone. She slammed it down in disgust.
“Phone still dead?” I asked.
“Yes. Goddamned storm. Goddamned island.” She rubbed her eyes with her hands.
“How's Aubrey?”
“Holding on. He's not conscious and his vomiting has stopped. But his heart rate's slow, and I don't have anything to give him for it.”
“Was it digitalis, like Lolly?”
“I don't know. Some of the symptoms are similar—the vomiting, the clammy skin, the delirium. But I don't think either of them got a dose the size of Lolly's.”
I didn't speak.
“I can't be sure what they were given.” Deborah leaned against the wall. “I need to check on Candace.”
“She's sleeping, and she seems to be resting better. Gretchen's with her.” I took Deb's cold hand in mine. “You've saved her life. Thank you.”
“Oh, Jordan.” Deborah's mouth set in a tight line. “I'm so sorry. So sorry about the baby.”
I swallowed. I had no words.
“I knew—she confided in me. When you saw us out on the dock. She was trying to find the right way to tell you.”
Bitterness welled in me. “Oh, God. She shouldn't have worried about it. She could have just told me.”
“She was concerned about how you'd take the news of being a dad. You were already dealing with so much with your own father. I think she was just biding for a better time.”
“How far along was she—”
“About six weeks. And Jordan, don't be upset with her. Please. She didn't want you to feel trapped.”
“Oh, God, I'm not upset with her.” But a secret place in my heart froze. Why couldn't she just have told me? I was sick of secrets, sick of shadows. Part of me wanted to tell Deborah the horrible truth about her father; let one more secret end here. But I held back. It was a dreadful message to deliver, and I decided those responsible needed to confess their crimes. Uncle Mutt was going to sing like a canary before I was through.
“May I see Aubrey?” I asked.
Deborah nodded. “I'll go check on Candace. Just go on in. Aunt Sass is with him.” She squeezed my hand and went up the stairs.
I rapped on the door. A voice called, “Come in.”
I slipped into the dim room. Aubrey lay under the sheets, a sheen on his flushed face. Like Candace's, his room reeked of vomit, a sickening perfume scenting the air. Aunt Sass sat by his bed, dabbing at his lips with a cloth. She glanced up at me then stared.
“What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was curiously blank, drained of its usual verve and sarcasm.
“How is he?”
“He was hallucinating earlier. Now he's asleep. I don't want to think he may not wake up.” She turned back to her son's form. “Candace?”
“The same. Perhaps not as bad. She didn't drink as much as he did.” I pulled a chair up to the opposite side of Aubrey's bed. Sass watched me for a long moment, then turned away.
I went to his closet—no tennis shoes there. I checked on the other side of the bed, aware of Sass's eyes on me. A scuffed pair of white leather sneakers lay on their sides. I examined the bottom of one; the tread was similar to the print left in the attic's dust.
So Aubrey had been the one sneaking around the attic. And the one who'd hidden Paul's jewelry, and probably the one who took it from Lolly's room while I hid in the closet. So why had Wendy lied for him?
Sass wiped at her son's mouth, although I couldn't see any spittle had formed. “Mutt says we can't take a boat yet. Have to wait for the storm to break.”
“Mutt doesn't run this family anymore,” I said softly, and her hand jerked along Aubrey's lips.
She made no answer, so I pressed on: “Don't you think he's pulled the strings long enough on you all?”
“I don't know what you mean.” Her eyes locked on Aubrey's sleeping, flushed face. His breath seemed a bare whisper.
“If Deborah didn't get the poison out of him soon enough, he'll die. His heart will fail.”
Her glower raked across my face. “Why do you say such horrible things to me?”
“Tell me who did this to him, Sass.”
“I don't know,” she snapped. “If I did, I'd settle the score.”
“Really? You knew Bob Don killed Paul and didn't seem to hold a grudge.”
She exhaled in a long, slow sigh. “Get out of here. I don't know what you're talking about.”
“End this charade now, Sass. Silence has brought this family nothing but pain. It's put Lolly in her grave. And it may put Candace and Aubrey there, too.” At this, she shuddered.
“No, he's going to be okay. My baby's going to be just fine.” She uttered her assurance with a strident tone.
“You know, if you and I were ever on the same side, we could kick serious ass,” I murmured, and she sobbed. I sat as her crying intensified. Aubrey moved restlessly in his doze.
“He knew, didn't he? He found out about the cover-up cooked up between the elder Goertzes to protect Pop for Paul's death.”
Her lips narrowed in answer.
“And someone found out he knew. And decided to shut him up. Except Candace got taken out along with him.”
“I'm sorry about your girlfriend, I hope she's okay—”
“She might be. But she lost our baby.” Sass's face drained of color and she made a noise in her throat. “My baby's lost. Your baby might be lost, too. Is all this worth your silence?”
“I don't know who did this to him. I don't know who killed Lolly.”
“Do you have a suspicion?”
She shook her head. “It could be any of them.”
“What's the bad blood between Aubrey and Tom?”
“I don't know. They always got along fine until Aubrey came back from being a runaway. I think Tom disapproved of Aubrey's mistakes.”
I stood. “I believe I'm going to have a few words with Tom.”
“Maybe—maybe you could just let this alone,” she whispered. “Aubrey's doing better, I think, and I'm sure Can-dace will be fine. You can leave and never come back, and I'll be sure Aubrey stays away and keeps his mouth shut. No one has to know your father killed Paul.”
“And no one has to know you covered it up?” I took a step back. “You're more worried about your own skin than you are about your son's.”
The accusation wounded her and she stiffened. “That's not true.” But her eyes didn't linger near me, or near her unconscious son's face.
“No wonder he ran away.” I headed for the door. “Where are the notes for his book, Sass? His laptop?” I gestured at the empty desk near his bed. “Did they get up and
walk away?”
She evaded my question. “What're you going to do, Jordan?” Sass challenged. “Tell your tale to the police? Lead them to Paul's body? You have no evidence. And if you blow the whistle, your father might be tried for murder. Is that what you want? Huh? Answer me!”
I hesitated by the closed door before I turned back to her. “Who said anything about the police, Sass? Mutt's convinced the police to leave us alone. I'm not so sure I'm interested in law as much as justice. I don't need the police for that.”
“Then you're just like the rest of us. No worse and no better. I shouldn't have called you a mistake. You're a Goertz, through and through.” She sank down next to her son and began to stroke his face with hard caresses, as though she could pour her own life's energies into him.
I shut the door on her and her words. Tom and Mutt had questions to answer.
AS I WENT DOWN THE STAIRS, A JAB OF PAIN IN my own stomach nearly floored me. I realized I hadn't eaten a bite since lunch. I needed to keep up my strength, although eating food of any sort in this house seemed risky. I'd find some canned soup—or other safe comestible—in the kitchen, and fix dinner for myself, Pop, Gretchen, and Deborah. Hell, maybe I'd even fix something for Sass. And perhaps Aubrey and Candace could be helped by food.
I skirted past the voices in the study. I could hear Jake and Mutt arguing loudly. Apparently Jake had been retrieved from his bedroom with all the panic and had found a second wind to bicker with Mutt. I hurried to the kitchen, finding it deserted. I busied myself with pots and pans. Grilled-cheese sandwiches and canned tomato soup should be safe, I reasoned.
My eyes stung; the combo was a favorite lunch of Can-dace's. I tried not to think about her—about the baby—too much. Not out of selfishness. It's just that I didn't want to be crumpled into a fetal ball, too consumed by grief to act. Or avenge.
I didn't have the luxury of remorse right now. The knot I felt in my guts would have to wait for a better time to unravel. When Candace and I could mourn together.